


Moments We Relive

by Fudgyokra



Category: The LEGO Batman Movie (2017)
Genre: But mostly BatJokes, Drabble Collection, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friendship/Love, Humor, Implied Relationships, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mentioned Pamela/Harley and Jon/Eddie, One Shot Collection, Sexual Humor, Short & Sweet, Silly, Slice of Life, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-11-20 22:19:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11344242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: Glimpses into the jointed life of the Joker and the Batman.





	1. Glasses

**Author's Note:**

> Because I honestly can’t help myself, here are even more prompts from lego-batjokes-prompts on Tumblr. Eventually she’s gonna get sick of seeing my username pop up in her tag, lmao. ;) This time I did prompts #222 through #224 and decided to stick them all in the same collection. You can read them as related oneshots or not, it’s up to you.
> 
> In the immortal words of Ernest Hemingway (or possibly not): “Write drunk, edit sober.” I followed that piece of advice with this fic, and I gotta say that it’s pretty effective.

****Glasses** ** ****  
** ** ****#222** **

“Listen, I know you’re against the whole ‘letting others help you’ thing, but there’s something I gotta tell you.”

Before Bruce stood the Joker, the initiator of this dangerous line of conversation. He appeared pretty docile, as he had been for the few days he’d been rooming at Wayne Manor. Currently, he was tapping the tips of his fingers together as he tumbled through the myriad of ways he could go about saying what he wanted to say without offending. When he came up short, he simply opted for the blunt truth: “I think your old age is catching up with you, buttercup.”

As expected, Bruce was not amused, neither by the endearing nickname nor by the implication that he was getting old. “Okay,” he began with a scoff, holding one hand out as if to solidify his upcoming argument, “first of all, forty is __not__ old. Second of all, fuck you.”

Joker closed his eyes and sighed, patience warring with irritation. “All I’m saying is that I think you may need glasses.”

“I do not need glasses,” Bruce said immediately. He punctuated this by crossing his arms belligerently across his silk pajama top.

Joker glanced off to the side, then back at him. “Bruce, babe…” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Who were you just talking to?”

“Robin, my awesome and incredible son that I adopted sort of by accident.”

A tight-lipped smile found its way onto the clown’s face. “And has he responded since you started talking to him twenty minutes ago?”

“What can I say? He’s a quiet kid.”

This actually managed to befuddle Joker for a long minute, during which he tried hard to maintain his composure. “Okay, __well__ _ _,__ I happen to know, after months of co-parenting him, that he is the complete opposite of ‘a quiet kid.’ I don’t think you—”

“What does any of this have to do with glasses, anyway?” Bruce interrupted, losing patience while Joker’s own warred with his temper inside of him.

“Honey,” he said slowly, falsely sweet. “Baby. Brucie-kins _ _.__ ”

“What?” the man in question asked in a clipped tone.

“You just had a full conversation with a trash can.”

There was a brief interlude of silence, during which Bruce looked across from his seat at “Robin” and studied it with a focused squint. Eventually, he muttered a quiet and reluctant, “Oh.”

Despite himself, Joker smiled fondly at the idiocy. “So, black frames, I take it?”

“Okay.”

Joker leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to Bruce’s temple. “It’s not that bad. You can totally foil my evil exploits with bifocals. I believe in you.”

Bruce frowned. “I guess,” he mumbled, leaning his head against Joker’s shoulder. “We’ll see.”

“Haha, no you won’t. You can’t see anythi—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Bruce said gruffly, “and let you consider who is generously sharing their bed with you tonight.”

Joker rolled his eyes. “Fine, sheesh. But we’re seeing the doctor tomorrow, all right?”

“I guess.”

Bruce stood and began heading for his bedroom. Vigilant in this matter, Joker jogged after him. “You __pinky__ promise?”

“Sure, whatever,” was the response. Then, shortly after, Bruce waved lazily at a passing potted plant and said, “Goodnight, Alfred.”

Behind him, Joker smiled.

 


	2. Forever

**Forever  
#223**

This wasn’t very different from the rest of the precarious situations they’d shared, except for one thing: they were almost certainly going to die this time, and no amount of combined brainpower made a sensible enough idea to save them.

Of course, it was their own fault. It usually was. This time, though, it ended perhaps a little worse off than either of them had honestly intended.

Currently, they were suspended above a boiling pot of sickly-green acid, bubbling with heat and ill intentions. Well, all the ill intentions a pot of acid could have, anyway.

“Bats,” Joker said, breaking their previous tense silence, “I have a confession.”

“Now is not really the time,” Bruce grunted, looking around them frantically for an escape and ignoring the blood pooling to his skull.

“I think now is _exactly_ the time.”

A groan. “Fine, but could you hurry it up?”

“Wow,” Joker said with a snort, “way to humor a dead man’s last words.”

“We’re not gonna die!” Bruce snapped, although he was growing more unsure of himself by the second. That obnoxious doomsday clock beeped somewhere in the distance, symbolizing the remaining seconds for which the rope would hold.

“Batman,” Joker tried again, oddly serious now, “Bruce.”

The declaration of his real name caught the other man’s attention. “What?” he asked, just before heaving a nervous breath.

“I know this is gonna sound a little weird, but, uh…”

“Spit it out, man,” Bruce chided, becoming more manic as he tried uselessly to loosen the ties around them. “We don’t exactly have all day.”

“I love you.”

Bruce stopped struggling. “Uh…what?”

“Like, I know we hate each other and stuff, but listen—”

“I mean, I know I’m pretty likeable and sexy and stuff, but—”

“Ruining it!” Joker cried, shutting the other up on a dime. “ _Anyway,_ ” he began again, “when I say that, I mean it. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have a reason to live, really. I…” He cleared his throat. “I wanna spend the rest of my life with you…even if that’s only for a few more minutes.”

The room was deathly quiet apart from the distantly-ticking clock, and Bruce didn’t appreciate the introspective time this lent him.

Joker, too, was suspiciously silent, obviously expecting a response for which Bruce simply did not have the mental capability. In a way, he thought it was obvious what he would say. In a different way, he thought that maybe he had been too stupid in years past to really show what he thought everybody already knew.

“I, umm,” he started uneasily, looking to and fro as if there were a distraction from the situation. “I…”

Joker sighed, hard and heavy. A dying breath. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to let you know.”

Bruce swallowed hard. “Okay, Joker. Listen.”

Silence. Bruce looked up, feeling a spark of hope shoot through him at what he saw: the rope containing them, hooked on one of the machinated device’s metal teeth. That would buy them more time than he’d anticipated, and that meant…

“Joker,” he started with renewed vigor, “you are—honest to god—the most obnoxious person I have ever met.”

“Thank you,” Joker said smugly.

“And if it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t be here right now, seconds away from death by bubbling acid.”

Joker snickered. “Yeahhh,” he said, almost reminiscently.

“And if we live through this, then that means fate wants me to tell you…uh, what you said back.”

“Wow, way to dump a guy,” the clown deadpanned.

Bruce couldn’t contain a grin. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you?”

The next few seconds felt unreal; the clock hit zero seconds, commanding the claw above them to open its gaping metal jaws and release the two of them into a vat of certain doom.

But it didn’t.

The rope was caught on a hook above them, swinging them precariously from side to side. When they floated to the far left side of the vat, Bruce had just managed to finesse a batarang down into his palm, slicing the threads from around them with a satisfying _snick_ sound.

They fell to the ground with a hard thump, and soon after Bruce was gripping Joker’s hand with a ferocity that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. “Ha!” he exclaimed, victorious while Joker heaved heavy, scared breaths.

“Oh, my god,” the latter managed to gasp after a moment, “you waited that long to save us?”

“Well, I—”

“You ass!”

Bruce’s mouth curled into a recalcitrant frown, but before he could respond, Joker threw himself into his arms and wrapped his own around Bruce’s neck. “You really had me there for a sec!” he cried, letting out a loud, obnoxious cackle. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me hanging!” He stopped himself with a snort-laugh and craned his head back, “ _Literally!_ ” he said, erupting into giggles again immediately afterward.

Bruce couldn’t seem to keep his frown in place. “Yeah, I had you,” he said, almost proudly.

“So, ah, about what you said.”

Suddenly Bruce realized this was one situation that truly was inescapable. “Oh, yeah. Err…”

“You said if we lived…”

“Yeah, I did say that.”

Joker lifted a fuzzy brow at him suspiciously. “You still think so?”

Bruce rubbed his chin. “Uh, yeah. That’s why I said it.”

“You… _knew_ we weren’t going to die?”

Bruce made a “tch” noise, like that should have been obvious. “I’m _Batman_ ,” he said, seriously, as though that explained everything.

For the time being, Joker accepted it. He grinned in unabashedly thrilled excitement, taking life by the reigns and crashing their mouths together enthusiastically. Bruce managed not to choke on his own tongue and kissed back, feeling vaguely weird about it but suspiciously satisfied, as though the action had been a long time coming.

“God, I love you!” Joker exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “I can’t believe we _lived_ through that!”

In his own little quiet world, Bruce watched the colorful man gallivant around the bunker, babbling unintelligibly, and for a second, he allowed himself the small pleasure of a love-struck smile. “Yeah,” he agreed, even though the Joker didn’t seem to be listening, “but I guess it’s a pretty good thing we did.”


	3. Engagement

**Engagement  
#224**

The way Joker looked at that moment, Jonathan Crane feared he might actually explode.

Eventually he had to inquire what had caused the jubilant mood, and the way Joker lit up alerted everyone else in the room, almost like he were a literal light bulb that suddenly had become too bright. “I’m glad you asked, Jonny-boy,” he began, sucking in a deep breath, “I just got _engaged!_ ”

Jonathan’s face contorted into shock. “You’re kidding,” he deadpanned.

Joker’s tongue poked out between his teeth in the sort of smile that told Crane he was, in fact, not kidding.

Harley skated by with a squeal of unmatched glee and reached out to grab Joker’s pale hand.

“Look at this shiny little buddy right here,” he told her proudly, wiggling his fingers to highlight the sizable diamond he sported. “And I didn’t even have to steal it!”

“ _Wow_ ,” Harley gasped, her eyes alight. “Brucie really sprang for the good stuff, huh?”

Jonathan looked back at Edward with an almost accusatory look. “He sure did, didn’t he?”

“You’re a lucky guy, Jokes,” Ed fawned, apparently unaware of Jonathan’s reaction, or at the very least purposefully ignoring it. “That’s a pretty big rock you have there.”

“I know!” Joker cried, clutching his own hand to his chest dramatically. If he could physically manifest hearts in his eyes, he would have. “Talk about happily ever after, am I right?” he chuckled to himself while his compatriots looked on in awe, and for a moment he could bask in attention without even doing anything illegal. It was a pretty good feeling, he had to admit.

“Proud of you, puddin’,” Harley said, patting him hard on the back and popping her gum. “This is a whole ‘nother stage of life for you. One day I hope me ‘n’ Pam get there, too.” She gasped then, struck with a sudden thought. “Maybe we could be neighbors!” she exclaimed.

Edward and Jonathan exchanged uneasy glances. “Yeah, well, you two have fun with the neighbor thing,” the latter said, “Ed and I will be moving very, very far away.”

Harley stuck her tongue out at them. “Have it your way, then, ya losers!” Then, shortly after, she leaned in to whisper to the Joker with a smile curving her lips. “Hey, I expect to be maid of honor, ya hear?”

Joker hummed. “Of course, Harls. Wouldn’t dare consider anybody else.”

“Who d’ya think Brucie’s gonna pick?”

The Joker’s pleasant smile became fractionally less innocent. “If I’m lucky, Selina.”

“Me-owch,” Harley said, looking triumphant.

“That’s just a flight of fancy, though,” he added with a dreamy sigh. “But hey, there are stranger things that have happened here in little ol’ Gotham City.”

Harley skated out of smacking range and grinned devilishly. “Yeah,” she started, high and loud, “like a clown marryin’ a bat!”


	4. Euphemistically Speaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman will let Joker get away with anything as long as Joker says "no homo" at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from lego-batjokes-prompts on Tumblr. Warning: This is stupid and contains a horrendous number of ellipses.
> 
> Edit (7.10.17): I decided to lump all of my Lego Batjokes ficlets in one place, so from now on I'm just going to add them all to this fic collection. This one was originally published on 4.15.17.

 

"Isn't it kinda weird that you use the word 'hate' lovingly?" Dick asked from where he lay on the sofa on his stomach, swinging his feet in the air.

Bruce looked at him. The boy had his cheeks smooshed into the bowl-shaped divot he'd fashioned with his hands and was looking up at him with his eyebrows raised ponderingly.

"What? No I don't," he replied quickly, dismissing the question without much of a thought.

"You  _are_  rather privy to using the term interchangeably with, say, 'love,'" Alfred offered from somewhere behind him.

Bruce grunted. "That would mean I tell Joker I hate him every day because I actually love him." He rolled his eyes to prove how absolutely ridiculous such a claim was.

Dick and Alfred exchanged a glance that Bruce did not miss. He narrowed his eyes and muttered a "No," with striking sobriety. "That would be weird."

"Weirder than parading around town in a bat costume?" Alfred asked. From the couch, Dick laughed; from his computer chair, Bruce grunted again—his primary method of communication in these late hours of the night. "I'm only suggesting, sir," Alfred continued, choosing his words carefully as he went, "that perhaps 'hate' is the not the feeling you are looking for when it comes to the Joker."

"Alfred," Bruce said seriously, shaking his head and giving the butler a dashing smile. "That's ridiculous. That would make me gay."

"Um, sir, that—"

"I love women. I love them."

"I know that, sir, I just—"

"I'm not gay, Alfred."

"I didn't say—"

" _Ridiculous_ ," Bruce repeated, turning back to his computer screen.

Alfred sighed, defeated. "Whatever you say, Master Wayne."

/

"Hey, can I ask you a weird question?"

Peculiarly, Joker looked as though he'd been expecting this moment. His eyes lit up, and the way he attached himself to Bruce's arm made the words he was about to say even weirder than they should have been. "Shoot, Batsy! I'm all ears!" he exclaimed, flicking one ear of Bruce's cowl pointedly and laughing in that annoying, stupid way Bruce hated.

"There have been some concerns that I may not really mean it when I say I hate you."

"What are you saying?" Joker asked, batting his eyes. He sounded close to tears.

"Some people…" Bruce began carefully, glancing from side to side, "think that maybe I actually say the word 'hate' when I really mean…something else."

Joker's eyes narrowed. "No way! That's ridiculous!"

"That's what I said!" Bruce returned, pleased.

"I hate you more than anything, darling!"

His smile dimmed. He cleared his throat and pulled at his collar. "Maybe don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Call me pet names."

"But I always do that."

"Yeah, but it sounds sort of…"

"Sort of…?"

"Sort of gay."

Joker gasped, as though he were scandalized. He put a palm to his chest and the back of his other hand to his forehead. "I can't believe that you would accuse me of being  _gay!_ "

"Are you…are you being sarcastic?" Bruce regarded the man with a blank expression, one so blank that it easily translated, even through the mask.

Joker rolled his eyes. "What do you want me to do? Add 'no homo' to everything so that people don't get the wrong idea?"

While Bruce rubbed his chin thoughtfully, he tried to gauge what the withering look on Joker's face could possibly mean. "Actually, that's not a bad idea."

The other man's painted lip twitched, but soon after that his expression became as deviously joyful as ever. "All right, Bat. I'll give you what you want any way you want it!" Then, slowly, he leaned up toward him, kissed him on the cheek, and said with deliberateness, "No homo."

/

Bruce was not sure why Dick and Alfred kept dogging him. Since their conversation, Joker was always crystal-clear about their relationship being purely platonic, and Bruce ensured that everyone knew it.

"Master Wayne," Alfred started, almost pleadingly, "even if it's platonic—"

"Which it is," Bruce interjected.

"Even  _so_ , I think that, perhaps, you should refrain from letting Dick hear some of the, ah, chats you and he share."

"Why? They are perfectly heterosexual."

"So what? Padre, I'm gay," Dick insisted, only to be shushed.

"No conversation I have will affect his delicate heterosexual sensibilities," Bruce promised whole-heartedly.

"Dad, I—" Dick stopped short when Alfred gave him The Look, and The Look meant that it was no use trying to convince Bruce to get his head out of his own ass, so he should just quit wasting his breath. Changing course, he blew out a puff of air and cracked a big, cheesy grin. "Thanks for understanding my delicate…heterosexual sensibilities."

"You're welcome, son," Bruce said, patting him on the head as he walked past them and out of the room.

When the two of them were alone, Alfred turned on his best assuring voice and regarded Dick. "Master Wayne truly does try his best. He's just a little thick-headed, is all."

Dick, for his part, snorted. "Could have fooled me," he said.

/

"Hey, Jokes?"

"Yes, Daddy?" came the trilled response. Then, shortly after, "No homo."

"Alfred says we should talk less in front of Robin, for some reason."

"Just because I let one little thing slip about how I want you to bareback me? In a non-homo way, of course."

Bruce nodded like he was seriously considering the possibility of that being the root of the problem. "I guess so."

"Or maybe because of the time I talked about theoretically sucking your cock dry. But just as a friend."

"Maybe." Bruce shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"What about when I asked you to dick me down until I sounded like a squeak-toy? Platonically."

Another shrug. "No idea."

"Bats…" Joker looked more than a little irritated.

"What?"

"I hate you."

"I hate you, too."

"I definitely mean it this time,  _babe_. No homo."

Bruce smiled and pulled the man close to his side in what was almost a hug. "Yeah, I mean it too."

"Get your arm off my shoulders, stupid."

"Are you mad?"

"Just in a state of heightened disbelief, is all."

/

Bruce inched his way through the foyer of Wayne Manor as quietly as he could manage and tiptoed out the front door before he frantically dialed Barbara on his cell. After three long, excruciating rings, the call finally connected.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Barbara. I was wondering if you wanted to go out for coffee today? Or something."

"Uh, why?"

"Okay, well, I'm not saying I'm having a crisis, exactly, but…"

"But that's exactly what you're saying." He could practically hear the smile in her voice.

"Everyone's starting to get suspicious about  _you know what_ ," he whispered.

"Honey," Barbara began sweetly, "I can't believe you still think you can hide that."

"I don't want Joker to find out!"

Barbara's longsuffering tone quickly became unabashedly incredulous. "That you two have been dating for two months?"

"He doesn't know that!"

"I think he does, Bruce. He only talks about it, like, all the time."

"What, like…you think he likes me?" he asked, skeptical but hopeful all the same.

Barbara drew a slow breath and let it out in similar fashion. "You guys have been dating. For two months. Remember that? Remember how you've been dating for  _two months_? Two! Months!"

"Okay, god, you don't have to say it like that." Bruce huffed. "I just wanted to be sure he knew before I dropped the, uh…y'know, the L word."

On the other end, Barbara Gordon collapsed into a fit of laughter. Bruce, however, did not seem to find the situation as funny as she did and ended the call with a grumble. Only seconds into his ritual app-checking, he got another call notification, bright and green and demanding from the Joker himself.

Bruce cleared his throat and put the phone up to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, are we still on for dinner tonight? Not a date or anything, though."

He steeled himself. "Actually, I'm gonna have to cancel our weekly platonic dinner night, Jokes."

"What?" Joker whined. "I was going to make sushi!"

"I have to cancel it because…I think we should go on a dinner  _date_  instead."

There was a short pause. "A dinner…date?" He could hear the other man suck in a breath as the words registered. "You mean it?" he asked with a dramatic sniffle. "Oh, Batsy, that's such good news!"

With equal parts relief and genuine fondness, Bruce replied, "I hate you. Full homo."

Joker practically swooned. "I hate you  _more_. Full homo."


	5. Triple Dog Dare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was an honest mistake to challenge the Joker's stubborn side, but Bruce had to test the limits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally published 4.22.17.

It was an honest mistake to challenge the Joker's stubborn side, but Bruce had to test the limits.

"You've lived alone your whole life," Joker had told him haughtily, hands on his hips and brows furrowed, "there's no way you can cook better than I can."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I can. Like, I could prove it right now."

That was how they ended up in the kitchen, each of them furiously slaving over dinner dishes until the counters were destroyed and the floor was practically unnavigable for all the spilled liquids. Alfred, from the doorway, watched them solemnly with great despair.

Bruce and Joker stood side by side, staring at the mess they'd concocted that anyone would be loath to call "food."

After a long silence, Joker said, "Mine looks better."

Bruce took the bait. "Yeah, sure, if you like eating vomit soup."

"At least mine isn't just a burnt calzone!"

"…It's not."

"What the hell is it, then?" Joker asked, perplexed and moderately fearful.

Bruce did not dignify that with an answer, and instead said, "So neither of us can cook. I think we cleared that up."

"You haven't even tasted it," Joker whined.

Bruce looked at the man, then at the Vomit Soup, then back at him. "I'm not eating that unless you eat mine."

After a split-second of disgust, the Joker's expression became devilish. "It's a deal, Bats."

"What?" Bruce deadpanned. "You're not seriously gonna eat that, are you? I literally don't even know what it is, and I  _made_  it."

Joker hummed and withdrew a fork from the silverware drawer. He poised it above Bruce's ungodly creation and wiggled it tantalizingly close. "I'm sure it won't kill me," he said, rolling his eyes.

Bruce paled. "All right, you know what? You win. We're going out to eat tonight."

Joker looked thrilled with the news. "So romantic!" he crooned, leaping toward him and tossing the fork behind him. It landed, tines down, in the Vomit Soup, where it promptly dissolved with a shrieking sound unmatched by that of tires locking. They regarded it with twin expressions of horror.

"Well," Bruce began, "I'm feeling Chinese food."

"How about Chow Tyme?" Joker asked.

They left the kitchen hand-in-hand, abandoning Alfred to his own devices in the midst of the horrific disaster they'd transformed the kitchen into. Pausing at the door, Bruce turned back to him. "Hey, uh, Alfred?" he asked, ignoring Joker humming Jeopardy music while he was smooshed comfortably into his side.

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't…don't let Dick anywhere near that. Seriously, I'm not kidding, it could kill someone."

"Of course, sir."

Bruce tipped his head in thanks, and the two disappeared out the door. With a resigned sigh, Alfred bent over and retrieved the mop and bucket.

* * *

A/N—Not pictured: Dick running headlong into a massive tentacle of Vomit Soup that has Alfred in its clutches and saving the day by consuming it with his iron stomach. (He thought it was delicious.)


	6. Mister Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Master Bruce, I believe it's time that we talked about your feelings."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Prompt #166 from lego-batjokes-prompts on Tumblr.
> 
> Edit: This was originally published on 5.28.17.

 

"Master Bruce, I believe it's time that we talked about your feelings."

From his chair, mug of coffee (black; dark roast, obviously) in hand, Bruce looked up at his butler with an expression of annoyance. "Batman doesn't have feelings, Alfred," he said matter-of-factly, "and if he did, he would only feel determination…and  _rage_."

Alfred looked rather tired.

After a second of studying his face, Bruce averted his eyes to stare into his coffee and acquiesced. "And, I mean, love for you, of course. And Robin. And Barbara, my platonic co-worker buddy who happens to be a girl."

"And…" Alfred cleared his throat and cast his eyes to the side meaningfully. "And what of the Joker, sir?"

Bruce took a dainty sip of coffee. "I hate him," he said, like it should have been obvious.

"Sir," Alfred started, only to be cut off by an obnoxious slurping sound, which lasted for some time.

"Hate him," Bruce repeated succinctly—his way of ending what little argument Alfred had managed to put forth.

With a heavy sigh, the butler turned away from him. "Then why, might I ask, is he currently rooting through our kitchen?"

" _What?_ " Bruce set his mug down on the end table and clambered onto his knees in the chair so he could peer over the back. "He was supposed to stay down in the—"

Alfred's gaze snapped back to him, eyes narrowed and mouth open in an accusatory way that made Bruce mentally retrace his steps.

"I mean, uh," he stood and brushed imaginary lint off his shirt, "I have no idea how he got in the kitchen. Or in the manor at all. Nope. No idea."

The older man's expression softened. "Master Bruce," he began lightly, "I think that, perhaps, there is something you've been forgetting to tell me."

While he pretended to think about it, Bruce sucked on his bottom lip and cast his eyes skyward. Unfortunately, he was not a very good liar. "Um…nuh-huh, don't think so."

As if prepared for this level of recalcitrance, Alfred withdrew a pair of purple panties from his jacket pocket and dangled them in front of the man, pinched carefully between thumb and forefinger. "Then how do you explain these?"

"Pshh, those are probably some hot lady's. You know, 'cause I have a lot of them over here, like,  _all_  the time."

"They say 'Mister Right' on the back."

"Yeah, well, uh…" Bruce privately made a face, then, after reassembling himself, said with deathly seriousness, "They're mine, Alfred."

Alfred looked at the underwear, then back at the man across from him. "They're yours?" he asked, tone flat.

"Yyyeahhhh…" To make a point, Bruce faked a smile. "I was, uh, being adventurous."

"Is fighting crime not adventurous enough, sir?"

"I just…liked them."

"All right, I have had it up to here with—"

"Bruce!" a voice—distinctly Joker-ish—called from the kitchen. As he continued speaking, it grew closer and closer. "Can't a guy get a little grub around here? Geez, it's like all you have is lobster. I can't stand the stuff, personally, but…"

He arrived in the doorway dressed in a black t-shirt several sizes too big for him, which appeared to be all he was wearing. "Hey," he started, "why's Jeeves taking my stuff?"

"I told him not to go into the bedroom," Bruce hissed defensively.

"They were in the Bat-copter," Alfred said. He sounded more tired than he looked.

Bruce cleared his throat. "Okay, so I may have forgotten to tell you about  _one_ thing."

The butler looked at Joker, who stood there, unconcerned, with one hand on his hip and the other fiddling with his hair. He looked remarkably out of place among the dark furnishings of the mansion, being all pale, white skin with the bottom half of his face smeared with red lipstick.

He looked even  _more_  out of place in the crook of Bruce's arm, which is where he situated himself to rest his chin on the other man's shoulder. "Come on, Brucie, I'm hungry."

Again, all Alfred could manage was a sigh. "Is eggs benedict fine, Mister Joker?"

"Ooh!" Joker exclaimed, apparently enthused by the idea.

"I'll take that as a yes." Alfred sat the underwear on the end table. "And, sir…"

"Yeah?" Bruce asked, frowning and desperately trying not to make eye contact with the man who had raised him.

He looked oddly like a teenager who was about to be grounded. One corner of Alfred's mouth rose in a fond smile. "Please, for Master Dick's sake, lock the door when you two are…getting intimate."

At the word 'intimate,' Bruce grimaced, and this sent Joker into a fit of laughter that the other men soon found was going to be hard to contain.

Presently, Alfred extricated himself from the room to cook, leaving Bruce behind to wither in his own shame.

Pert and in a much better mood than before, Joker trotted after the butler. "Join me if you wanna, Batcakes. Then we'll try the Bat-schooner next!"


	7. Mickey Hickey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, I’m back again. An anonymous Tumblr user requested that I write more Lego BatJokes, and how could I say no? I love these lil bricks. :) This time it’s #267 from lego-batjokes-prompts, and it is the seventh oneshot I’ve written for them…because I’m truly addicted, lol.

 

“Mistah J!” Harley crooned, voice riding over the tops of villainous heads and weapons held aloft. A second had barely passed before she tried again. “ _Mistah J!_ ” This one was a screech, causing the aforementioned crowd to lower the weapons they held in collective confusion.

Joker, with a tight smile, put his hands out and caught the girl’s shoulders as she wheeled by. “Harls, babe, I hear you. This place has very good acoustics.” He gestured with a thumb over his shoulder at the decrepit stage in the abandoned theater, where his lot was currently planning an attack on the ever-mysterious Batman.

“Sorry, I can’t help it,” Harley told him, grasping his hands with frightening tightness. “I’m just excited!” She all but collected him into her arms and skated down the aisle toward the stage, leaving a startled Joker clinging desperately to her shirt while his gang looked on with rapturous interest. “Just borrowin’ him a sec!” she promised them; then, to Joker, she said, “I have _great_ news. You’re gonna love it.”

This got Joker’s attention. Presently, a sneaking grin materialized onto his painted face. “Clue me in. I gotta know. Is it about the Bat?”

“Who else?” Harley set him down and held her hands out for effect. “So get this: I’ve been tappin’ Brucie McJerkFace’s phone line, and I think he has a new flame.”

If it were possible for Joker’s face to whiten, it would have. “ _Ohhhh_ boy, uh.” He cleared his throat and reassembled his expression into something more serious. “You dragged me away from my meeting for that? Harls, that’s not impor—”

“No, wait!” Harley clapped her hands together loud enough to draw the attention of the goons back to the two of them. “I found a message that he left on the machine. He said he’s lookin’ forward to their meetin’ at the cinema tonight!”

“Oh, really?” Joker asked, mouth stretched downward into an uncomfortable frown. “Gee, I think I have something… _planned_ for tonight already. With, uh, Penguin.”

Penguin, from where he stood among the crowd, opened his mouth to voice a confused objection that Joker loudly spoke over. “So no can do! I’m sorry, Harley, but—”

“Nonsense,” she interrupted, punching him playfully in the shoulder and giggling like this were one of his typical jokes, “we already know where they’re gonna be and everything, so guess what we’re gonna do?”

“What?” Joker deadpanned.

Harley lowered her voice conspiratorially. “We’re gonna go out tonight…”

“Yeah?” he asked, warily.

“We’re gonna sneak up on ‘em…”

“Yeahhh?”

“And we’re gonna kidnap her!” her voice exploded into an octave not too comfortable for being right in Joker’s ears. “Boom! Out from the shadows just like Big Bad Batsy. He’ll never see it comin’!”

“What, um—” Joker cleared his throat and gestured vaguely at nothing with his index finger. “What makes you so sure it’s a ‘new flame’?”

Harley bit her tongue between her teeth for a second to quell her excitement, then burst out with her findings: “He said he was sorry for givin’ her the weird hickey that looks like Mickey Mouse.”

Before Joker could dredge up a response, Scarecrow’s voice floated down the aisle serenely, as if he’d been patiently awaiting his turn to speak the whole time. “You mean,” he started with a sideways smile, “like the one on J’s neck?”

Harley looked back at Joker, who slapped a palm over his neck in a heartbeat. “I do _not_ have a hickey,” he protested. “Anyway, meeting’s over. Go home, you animals! Shoo!” He waved his free hand at the group of tittering villains, sending his best glare after their retreating bodies.

“Mistah J?” Harley asked, voice saccharine sweet.

Joker knew that voice. With a sigh, he lowered his hand from the bruise-colored mark at the junction of his shoulder and his neck. “I can explain,” he began, only to be cut off by a tight hug that lifted him clean off his feet.

“You jerk! You didn’t tell me you finally hooked up with Ol’ Batty!”

Joker opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally, after a moment of consideration, he said, mischievous smile alight, “Y’know his chest hair is shaved in the shape of a bat?”

Harley grinned with all her teeth and grabbed Joker’s hand. “C’mon, let’s go to my place. I wanna hear _all_ the nasty details.”

“And nasty they are, Harls,” Joker replied, smiling proudly.

The only sound that followed them out was that of Harley’s giggles, masking whatever words Joker was speaking to her on their path outside.

From the rafters above, cloaked in shadow, the Batman monitored their exit, and with a deep, rasping voice, he spoke into his communicator watch. “Alfred,” he started, “cancel my evening plans.”

“Of course, sir. May I ask why?”

“Tonight,” he said, deathly serious, “I’m gonna go kick Scarecrow’s ass.”

There was a pause on the line, then: “Sir, I’m not sure that—”

“He snitched. He’s a snitch, Alfred.”

“I don’t doubt it, but—”

“Gotta go.”

With flair unseen by anyone but himself, he jumped onto the floor below, cape billowing behind him. He lifted the watch to his mouth again, and, like in every good spy movie, he ended the call with his dramatic, succinct code words: “B-man out.”


	8. Famous Last Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where’s that “surprise, bitch, bet you thought you’d seen the last of me” GIF when you need it? Because guess what y’all, I’m back!! *scattered booing* This prompt, from the ever-adorable lego-batjokes-prompts blog, is #343 and also my EIGHTH one for them. :”3 I also threw prompt #236 in at the end because I loved that one, lol. This was written super speedily and edited in one quick go, so sorry for any mistakes.

When their situation became deadly, something about his whole day suddenly seemed wrong. The Batman didn’t die, for one thing; for another, he did not die clutching his worst enemy to his chest, nails no doubt making marks on his skin while the other practically sobbed his makeup off.

“I swear this wasn’t part of the plan!” Joker wailed, prompting Bruce to take a deep breath.

“I’ll find us a way out of here,” he promised, even though he doubted his words.

Between them was nothing but ice.

Mr. Freeze was capable of causing so much damage with so little material, but this time it did not amuse nor impress Bruce. With he and Joker’s feet not only losing circulation but prevented from moving, their precarious position on the railroad tracks was less than desired, to say the least. To make matters worse, there was a train whistle blowing somewhere just around the trees. Too close for comfort.

Bruce considered that this might actually be the end. All of this, this whole world he’d created for himself—the world that he and Joker had saved for each other’s sake—it looked as though it were on the brink of crumbled down around them.

Joker cast a weepy gaze in the direction that the whistle had come from. “If we don’t make it, I just want you to know I lo— _hate_ you. I hate you and only you forever.”

“I love you, too,” Bruce said without even thinking about it. He was looking off into the distance as well now, frantically looking for something, _anything_ that could get them out of this. He was unaware of the way Joker was staring at him, big tears welling on his waterline with his smudged lips parted.

When he finally did look back down, he seemed to realize at once what the problem was. “Um. I meant…”

“You said the ‘L’ word,” Joker mumbled, leaning his face against Bruce’s shoulder and effectively streaking it with white paint. “I waited so long for you to say it and now we’re gonna _die!_ ” he howled, picking his head up again to emphasize his point.

Bruce furrowed his brows. “Joker. Hey, J-bird. Look at me.” He rubbed his thumbs across Joker’s cheeks, smearing what was left of the white foundation away along with his tears. “I’m, uh…” There was a pause, during which the train’s whistle blasted ferociously and deafeningly, _almost_ there but not quite. There was still a little time… “I’m sorry,” he said, almost like it hurt him to admit.

“Sorry? Why?”

“For not saying it sooner. Because I, err…” He flapped his hand uselessly in lieu of words, and the way he struggled made Joker giggle.

It was enough to make him smile, knowing that at least they spent their last moments together in laughter and in truth.

“Batman. Bruce.” Joker smeared his palm across his cheek and sniffled. “I love you too, jerk.”

Bruce had lifted his cape around them both in a last-ditch effort at keeping their minds off their impending doom. And then, with a mighty crash and an ear-splitting squeal, the train just _stopped_.

They looked at each other with big, watery eyes, then up at the train, which had squealed to a stop several feet away. This was all thanks to the tensed hands of one Clark Kent, who was regarding them both with an annoyingly self-righteous grin that showed off all his perfect teeth.

“Sorry I’m late, boys!” he said, floating down to melt the ice at their feet.

When Joker flung himself at the Kryptonian, engulfing him in a hug, Bruce had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “I could’ve handled that,” he muttered.

“I’m sure you could have,” Clark said, using a finger to slide the eyelash-batting clown away from him.

“Thanks,” Bruce said, because he supposed he _did_ owe him that much. It didn’t mean he had to like it, though. “It was nice of you.”

Clark gave him a miniature salute and a wink, at which Bruce blanched. “Okay, we get it: You’re perfect. You can go now.”

At that, Clark laughed. “All right, Batman. I have to go console the poor conductor, anyway.”

Bruce allowed Joker to worm his way underneath his arm, and they watched, practically joined at the hip, as Superman boarded the train and removed himself from their line of sight.

There was a stretch of tense silence, but Joker finally broke it with a snort. “I mean, it’s cool he saved us and all, but does he have to be so… _like_ that? Y’know?”

“God, I know, right?”

“Superman is so overrated.”

Bruce felt another tear spring to his eye. He nodded solemnly, eyes closed. “I have never loved you more than I do right now.”

Presently, Joker pounced on him with arms outstretched, knocking them both to the ground and into one cohesive mass.

When Clark returned, Bruce regarded him with his usual brand of gruffness, as if he did not have red lipstick smeared all over his face in various places. “Ahem. Thanks again, Supes.”

“All in a day’s work,” the other said, seconds before taking off.

Bruce and Joker glanced at each other with matching grins. “ _So_ overrated,” the latter repeated.

“Agreed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Superman ex machina!


	9. Cinderella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw this idea floating around the internet in a lot of different forms, so I wrote my take on it. Also, not a prompt this time! :O Written and edited very quickly, so sorry for any mistakes…and for bland writing, lol. Just needed to get the idea out of my head.

The club scene was not among his favorites, but when duty called, there wasn’t much of a choice given to him about where he got to go. The worst part was that the general public was unaware he was on a mission, and he was dressed as a goddamn _bat_ in the middle of a crowded dance floor, drawing less attention than expected but still more than desired. Perhaps if it had been a Halloween dance…

Bruce fought his way through the mass of dancing bodies until he saw her—hips rocking to the beat, eyes glowing, smiling with all her teeth.

“Selina,” he said, catching her by the arm and speaking into her ear to be heard above the music, “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I know, baby,” Selina purred, cradling the man’s jaw in her hand and winking seductively. “And I know why.”

“You ought to,” Bruce answered, scanning the crowd with narrowed eyes. “You’re the one that tipped me off.”

“You’re here to find the Charming to your Cinderella, yeah?” Selina’s grin was all-knowing; Bruce might have flushed beneath the cowl, not that he’d admit it.

“Maybe,” he muttered.

“Well,” Selina began, jerking a thumb over her shoulder, “he’s at the bar.” With that, she let him go, watching with a fond smile as he traipsed back through the mass and toward the front of the room again. “Oh, that bat,” she said to herself, casting her eyes to the side just in time to see that her original dance partner had returned. “Speaking of Charming…” she said, watching Harley giggle in response.

“Shut it, you!”

At the bar, Bruce laid in waiting. He had just begun drumming his fingers on the counter anxiously when a man approached and ordered a margarita—no salt, lime on the side. “And don’t be afraid to make it a little heavy,” he said, throwing a wink at Bruce rather than at the bartender.

Bruce was looking for a _specific_ person, but this man was stunningly handsome and looking at him with eyes that said it all. He had to blink several times to clear his head. “Uh…hey.”

“Is that all I get, cutie?” The man smiled, tucking a loose blond wave behind his ear. Bruce couldn’t find a place to settle his eyes on first; the man’s hair was feathered about his head, framing an angular face in a very flattering way, but those innocent, petal-pink lips held back some _very_ alarmingly sharp teeth, which glinted in the neon of the bar.

It took all the strength he had, but Bruce knew who he’d come for. “Not interested,” he said, looking back at the bartender with as much disinterest as he could fake.

“Um, hello?” the man said, frowning in annoyance at him now. “Bats? Batcakes?”

“Listen, buddy, I’m waiting on somebody else, okay?” Bruce waved a hand at him. “You’re, like, ridiculously gorgeous and all, but…” He paused to clear his throat, then crossed his arms. “If you must know, I am waiting for the Joker. That’s right, you heard me. Gawk it up.”

The man’s lips parted as though he were going to speak, but he simply regarded him, dumbfounded, instead.

“You heard me. Shoo.”

“Batman,” the man said, voice full of humor this time.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed at the same rate his scowl grew. “I told you, I’m—”

“Babe, it’s me. Joker.” The man waved a hand in front of his face with a cackle that _did_ sound pretty familiar, now that he mentioned it. “Do you have eyes in that cowl, or what?”

“But—your hair… Your makeup…”

“Do I really look that different without the dye and paint?”

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess so. Oops.”

Joker grinned at him, which was the last thing he saw before the man hopped at him with his full strength. “Oh, Bats!” he cried, ecstatic, “You were waiting for _meee_? How sweet!” Bruce said something that was too muffled by Joker’s shirt for him to hear, but Joker refused to release him from his bear hug. “So romantic,” he swooned. A pause, then: “Wait. How did you know I would be here?” he asked, pulling back to affix him with a concerned look.

Bruce glanced away for a second to make something up, but Joker was smiling again in seconds. “Oh, who cares! Come on, Batboy. Let’s dance.”

He dragged Bruce back into the hellish crowd, leaving the bartender with two completely full drinks in his hand and a tired frown. With a sigh, he set the glasses on the counter. “That clown never pays for these damn drinks…”


End file.
